The eleventh of September 42 is one of the happiest days of my life: a little before noon, I passed, for the last time, in a T-shirt and jeans, through the gate of the artillery barracks "Marshal Tito" and headed along Teodora Dreiser Street towards the bus stop on the line 221. Where am I headed? Home, of course. I arrived there in the evening, by passenger class, and then from the station by bus no. XNUMX. At home, a cassette with the album was waiting for me, for the ritual release The Velvet Underground and Nico, the same TDK normal of 90 minutes that I have on my drone zrobione w Polsce listened to the tape recorder the morning I left for the army. Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather... That's how I ended the senseless and fatal barracks life, with great joy, and an even greater desire to never see the inside of that or any other barracks, of any army, ever again in my life.
I would say that it is quite a normal human urge: a person simply does not want to stay in a barracks, hospital or prison, if he does not work there. There are, of course, exceptions, and I have nothing against that because I am in favor of respecting all lifestyles, including those that seem quite twisted to me. The matter, however, becomes somewhat more complicated if the proponent of extreme lifestyles is a person who has exceptional social power, for example, the prime minister.
Here, for example, is our case: Aleksandar Vučić drove the entire Government of Serbia to some barracks in Nis, wouldn't they play a show of "closeness to the people" combined with elements of "Spartan modesty and thrift": the hotel costs money, my dear, and the barracks are for j! And like in those jerky commercials for detergent: some ordinary the government would be accommodated in a hotel or some other suitable accommodation, but not Vučić's government... That is: Vučić's paratheater troupe, as it will turn out. Let's put aside the fact that barrack accommodation, food and other resources don't fall from the sky and we pay for all of that. And that the purpose of a government is not to cost a little but to be worth a lot.
It was not at all difficult to recognize third-rate populist demagogy in the whole "barracks action", probably because Vučić - I must admit: not without reason - judged that this much was enough for the audience he was addressing. She doesn't even need the subtler narcotics, and this political crap she's serving up is OK with them. Meguto, now that the action is coming to an end, it should be noted that the matter is somewhat more complicated.
Right before the curtain goes down on the stage of the Non-National Theater in Nis, Vučić, namely, remains almost alone on the stage, and it becomes evident that this was exactly the purpose of the exhibitionist venture. Namely, in the beginning, the ministers dropped out of the story: it's not a women's barracks, it's fragile and sensitive and always wanting something, so that's why they're going to the hotel anyway. We take them out of the scene before they had any response, which from one angle preserves some dignity, but from another, again, this is their pre-written role: to be invisible and absent as the weakest of the three poles. Three genders? Yes: women, men and Aleksandar Vučić. Because then, lo and behold, the ministers also began to fall away, sneaking out one by one from the barracks in the direction of the whole world and under the most touching possible excuses, which Vučić summed up with resignation as usual on the day of the creation of this text, ostensibly complaining that most of them she couldn't wait to replace the barracks with a comfortable hotel or her own home, as only two of them are still barely clinging to him, the rest of course pussies (of course that word is spoken in sublime frequencies and written in invisible ink) who are comfortable, unlike the prime minister who, he says, can not see a bathtub for seven days, a shower is enough for him. And kanda and army beans and so on. And he washes on the clear sky that is reflected in the full moon, and he shaves on an old stump, and everything in that sense.
It is important to understand one thing here: Vučić is not in control messenger so that ministers began to take turns and run home at the first convenient opportunity but, on the contrary, this was exactly their task (regardless of whether it was agreed or somehow implicitly assumed, which seems more likely to me) in this division of roles: to they turn out to be mollusks who only look at their asses and think of their own trivial comfort, and not of the public good, wouldn't that be how, in contrast to them, the character of the Hero would shine even more brilliantly. In that sense, they are at least as much of a problem as He is, because if there weren't such, as consumables, even the cocky protagonist wouldn't have room for his hopelessly cheap escapades. In other words, the people who agree to stand in this misery of a play are worthy of all contempt and are demonstrably beings without elementary dignity, but not because they catch a rumble from some kind of barracks, but because they agree to this calculated humiliation, to the roles of show donkeys, because that they are so unworthily willing to serve as spider-villains in a funny and dreary show of a public narcissist exercising his slightly bizarre tendencies at public expense. And he is still convinced that public thanks and adoration will follow him for that. Now, what is not his problem, but ours, is to always find enough simplicity that he will succeed in bewitching, proving the enduring truth of the motto of all the world's bewitchers: you can never sufficiently underestimate the intelligence and taste of those who yearn to be pulled by the nose. .
